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My jaw locks.

“The fewer people who knew where it was, the better.”

“You could've told Bishop.”

“I didn't know Bishop.”

“You could've told me.”

“I didn't know you.”

“Callie was taken.”

His expression hardens. “And telling you where the flash drive was would've changed that how?”

I stop.

Smoke leans forward. “We didn't know what Mercer could see, what he could hear, who he had working for him, or what he'd do if he got desperate. I knew the drive was safe. So I kept it safe.”

Fuck. I understand every goddamn word.

Worse, I'd have done the same thing.

I look at the small plastic case sitting between us.

Then I remember standing in Smoke's garage. I'm not handing shit to some guy I met five minutes ago just because Callie says you're a hitman.

And my own immediate thought.

Good. If he'd handed dangerous information to an unknown man without asking questions, he'd be a fucking idiot.

Callie is watching me. She sits back against the couch, then winces.

My irritation disappears instantly. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

“Shoulder?”

“Roman.”

“Is it your shoulder?”

“I'm fine.”

I stare at her.

She stares back.

Smoke watches us.

I look at the drive again. “You haven't plugged it into anything?”

“No.”

“Made copies?”

“No.”